Magnate by Joanna Shupe (17)

Chapter Seventeen

By the time dawn crept over the East River, Emmett had been at his desk, working, for several hours. With cigars and righteous anger as fuel, he had powered through contracts, finance reports, correspondence, newspapers . . . anything he’d put off since the storm.

Never take your attention off the work. He’d forgotten that lesson in the last few days. He would not make the same mistake again.

The door opened, and Kelly strolled in, a china teacup and saucer in his large hands. Emmett ignored him, continuing his letter to the East Coast Steel investors—a reassurance that there was no pending investigation or criminal activity to be concerned over.

Kelly dropped into the chair opposite the desk, sipped his coffee. The silence stretched, and Emmett could feel Kelly’s disapproval descending like the steam in the Turkish bath. And little that reminder did to sweeten his mood.

“What?” Emmett finally snapped. “Whatever you need to say, spit it the fuck out.”

Colin chose that moment to arrive for work, pushing into the large room. “Come back in fifteen,” Emmett shouted. Colin’s eyes went wide behind his glasses, and he beat a hasty retreat.

“I guess I don’t need to ask how your evening went,” Kelly drawled when the door closed. “How long have you been at it? Dawn?”

Emmett didn’t answer because Kelly would feel no sympathy. He’d told Emmett to go easy on Elizabeth, to hear her out. Not to leap to conclusions. As far as Emmett was concerned, he’d leapt at the only conclusion that could be reached.

“You were wrong,” he told Kelly. “She admitted it.”

Kelly’s square jaw dropped. “To working with Sloane?”

“No. That she denied. She admitted to buying the stock. Said it was to protect me, to keep someone else from buying it.”

“Well, there you are.” Kelly nodded as if that explanation tied it all into a neat little bow. “That’s hardly a crime. Downright considerate, if you ask me.”

“No one did ask you,” Emmett shot back. “And I haven’t risen to where I am by ignoring my gut—and my gut tells me that she and her brother were working together on this.”

“And I think the gin has finally gone to your head, Bish.” Kelly tapped his temple with two fingers. “That woman worships you, or at least she did until you screwed up. She never woulda done somethin’ like you’re thinking.”

“Everyone is capable of deceit and cruelty when pushed, Kelly. We, of all people, understand that.”

“That may be true, but your wife is different. She’s loyal. And honest. How many women would have kept out of your bed just so they wouldn’t have to lie for an annulment?”

“And when that didn’t work, look at what happened.”

Kelly shook his head. “There’s a bigger problem you just don’t want to face.”

Emmett sighed. “Which is?”

“Someone started that rumor about the pending investigation. And it wasn’t Sloane or your wife. So who was it?”

“I think you are mistaken, but I guess time will tell.”

The other man sipped his coffee, replaced the cup on the saucer, and set both on Emmett’s desk. “So what’ll you do to prove her guilty?”

Emmett rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. In all the anger and hurt last night, he hadn’t gotten this far. Stupidly, he had thought she’d admit the wrongdoing, after which he could throw her out and then divorce her. Christ.

“Have her followed,” he said suddenly. “Hire Sheridan. Any time she leaves, I want to know where she goes and who she’s meeting with.”

Kelly worked his jaw back and forth, a sign he was trying to rein in his temper. “That is the stupidest damn—”

Emmett slapped his hand on the desk, a crack that echoed off the walls. “Do what I say or I’ll do it myself—after I kick you out of the goddamned house!”

The two of them stared at one another, locked in a battle of wills. Emmett knew Kelly didn’t agree with him, thought better of Elizabeth . . . and Emmett didn’t care. The problem would be handled his way—not Kelly’s. His muscles tensed, and he gritted out, “See it done, Kelly.”

Kelly rose slowly. With exaggerated flair, he bowed. “Of course, your highness.” Snapping his heels together, he marched to the door. “Heard her say she’s going out to see Edith Rutlidge. Want me to follow?”

Where Henry Rutlidge also happened to reside. That did not take long. No doubt she would cry on her former beau’s shoulder while surrounded by her high-society friends.

“Yes,” he snarled. “Stay with her this morning, then hire Sheridan this afternoon. And send in Colin—it’s past time to get to work.”

* * *

Lizzie took in the gaily dressed crowd gathered in the elegantly appointed Rutlidge drawing room, a group of people known to her since birth. Familiar surroundings, yet never had she felt more isolated, more apart. To be truthful, she’d never fit in with New York society. The things she wanted were unheard of by women of her set—a career, independence—and the older she grew, the less she cared about hiding her true self.

Tonight’s misery, however, had little to do with society’s constraints. Lizzie’s heart ached, the weight of Emmett’s accusations suffusing her with misery. How could he have believed the worst of her?

No matter how close they’d grown since the storm, Emmett did not trust her. What more could she do? She’d given herself to the man, even admitted she no longer planned to seek an annulment, and what had all that gained her? Certainly not his faith or his love.

Which meant they had nothing.

She dragged in an unsteady breath. Part of her wanted to stay and fight, prove to Emmett he’d been wrong about her, if only to see his face when he learned the truth. After all, he’d come to meet her that night at Sherry’s, setting up a private room for them. He’d wanted her then. There had to be part of him that cared for her, that could come to love her someday. Love her as much as she loved him.

The other part of her wanted to throw her wedding ring in his face, walk out, and never look back. Because even if she stayed, how could she ever forgive him?

Edith appeared and linked her arm with Lizzie’s. “It’s entirely unfair that you can be so beautiful even when heartbroken.”

Earlier in the day, Lizzie had confessed the entire sad tale to her friend. Of course Edith had been outraged, ready to take on Emmett herself on Lizzie’s behalf. Common sense prevailed, however, and they had decided to drown Lizzie’s sorrows with cake instead.

Lizzie attempted a smile. “I apologize. I’m ruining your party.”

“Oh, stop. The last thing you need is to be holed up in that giant monstrosity. You need to be surrounded by the people who love you, who understand you.”

The implication was clear, that Emmett was not “of their kind,” and the idea rankled. Lizzie was tired of hearing what people should and should not do, of being judged inferior merely because their ancestry was different. Under his gruff exterior, Emmett was a good man—a good, misguided, cynical, entirely-in-the-wrong man.

“I’m not certain that’s true, but I did not want to disappoint you,” she told her friend.

“Don’t be absurd, of course it’s what you need. Tonight we shall forget about that silly cartoon as well as your husband. Let’s have fun instead.”

Lizzie sipped her champagne and wished it were that simple. How could she forget a man who’d affected her so deeply, like he’d become a part of her?

Henry, Edith’s brother, approached, a crystal tumbler dangling in one hand. Elegant in his evening dress, he possessed not a hair out of place, though his eyes told another story. Both were rimmed red, as if he’d been drinking steadily. “Good evening, Lizzie.”

“Henry,” she said with genuine fondness. He’d avoided her in Newport and had refused to attend her wedding. She’d worried tonight would be awkward, so it pleased her that he was making an effort to retain their friendship. “How are you?”

Edith excused herself, and Henry took Lizzie’s arm. “Walk with me?” Without waiting on an answer, he led her to the far end of the drawing room. He leaned against the wall and took a large sip of his drink. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The Worth cream satin dress had been bought for her never-used trousseau, and Lizzie loved it. Roses fashioned from black seed beads adorned the boned bodice, with more roses on the front of the floor-length skirt. Plain satin gathered at the bustle and draped into a simple train.

“I hear all is not well in Cavanaugh castle.”

She stiffened. Had someone told Henry of Lizzie’s marital discord? Edith would never dare. “I am not certain I know what you mean.”

His mouth hitched. “Come now, Lizzie. I know about his stock. Everyone knows, in fact. Nasty rumor that started the slide, too. What I haven’t been able to piece together is who purchased the shares. They were bought up as quickly as they were sold.”

Lizzie relaxed, grateful the comment was not a personal one, as well for Robbie’s discretion. The young trader had sworn not to reveal information regarding her trades or clients to anyone else. Despite Emmett’s somehow learning who had bought his shares, likely no one else would.

She lifted a shoulder and kept her expression clear. “I have no idea, but my husband was not overly worried.”

“Not worried? Someone bought a quarter of his company, and he was not worried? He’d be a fool.”

Yes, Emmett was a fool—but not over concerns for East Coast Steel. And she did not wish to discuss such a raw topic at this moment. “I couldn’t say. If you’ll excuse me.” She made to move past Henry, and he reached out a hand to stop her.

“Wait, do not leave,” he rushed out quietly. “Dash it, Lizzie. I have to speak with you now that I finally have you alone.”

She disentangled herself from his grasp. “What is it, Henry?”

He took a bold step closer. “I still want you. I love you, no matter who you are married to.”

Lizzie froze at the sheer audacity, the utter inappropriateness.. . . When she didn’t immediately move away, Henry blurted, “I can make you happy. It’s clear you’re miserable. I knew it in Newport, and I’m even more convinced of your unhappiness now. You deserve better than Cavanaugh.”

She was miserable, but her feelings were no one’s concern but her own. That Henry would even broach such a subject—in a semipublic place, no less—caused her to bristle. “My marriage is none of your affair, nor anyone else’s. My loyalties lie with my husband. If you thought otherwise, then you were mistaken.”

“Do you even care what they are saying about you? About this investment business you’re starting?” The words “investment business” were said with the same amount of scorn as one might say “Tenderloin bordello.”

“Henry—”

“They say you’re becoming common, Lizzie, just a common laborer whose hands are every bit as filthy as her husband’s.”

Her muscles trembled with shock and outrage, the reaction swift and fierce. Undoubtedly, the words would not bother Emmett, but she rushed to defend him all the same. “Everything my husband has, he achieved through hard work and daring. If you think comparing me to him is offensive, you could not be more wrong.”

Henry’s mouth twisted, fury and failure turning his boyish visage considerably ugly. “Didn’t you notice how Mrs. Van de Berg and the other matrons avoided you tonight? How they turned their backs instead of greeting you?” He gestured across the room to where a group of three older women stood, whispering. Lizzie actually hadn’t noticed the slight, her misery clouding her perceptiveness this evening.

“That cartoon has turned you into a joke. They have been gossiping about you and your husband all evening. Wondering how the mighty Sloanes have fallen so far as to let their pride and joy fall into the hands of a coarse barbarian like—”

“Enough,” Lizzie hissed, cutting him off. “I won’t stand here and allow you to insult me or my husband.”

Emmett’s remarks bolstered her confidence, and impassioned words poured from her mouth. “I’m tired of caring what people say about me. First they criticized me because I wasn’t demure enough during my debut, then they complained I wasn’t interested in marriage. I made the unforgivable mistake of not allowing my dresses to sit for a season before I wore them. Oh, and how dare I not shun the Hayes girl as everyone else did? I have garnered censure at every turn, and I am sick of it. I won’t live my life for anyone other than myself, not anymore.”

Turning away from his bewildered expression, Lizzie set her champagne glass on a side table and marched to the other side of the room. Might as well deal with this directly. “Ladies,” she greeted in a firm, resolute voice.

Mrs. Van de Berg and the other two ladies spun, surprised at Lizzie’s sudden appearance. “Oh, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Van de Berg drawled. “How lovely to see you this evening. And where is your husband?” She glanced about dramatically. “Did he escort you?”

If intended to throw her off, the comment failed. Lizzie was prepared for whatever insults these ladies hurled at her. “He did not, as he had other matters to attend to this evening.”

The matron nodded sympathetically. “Yes, we have heard of the long hours he keeps. That must be quite tedious for you, a husband obsessed with business—oh, but you’re business-minded as well, it seems. Perhaps you two are not as ill-matched as we feared.”

A not-so-veiled dig over the circumstances of Emmett’s birth, that he did not lead the idle life of a proper gentleman, and of Lizzie’s scandalous ambition. But Lizzie had navigated these waters her entire life, and she had no intention of tossing in her oars now. Sloanes weren’t quitters, after all.

“Yes, I am starting my own investment firm. I do hope to help less fortunate ladies provide for their elder years. Just imagine if circumstances were slightly different, how trying these times would be for you.”

Three mouths compressed into thin, indignant lines at the mention of their advanced age, and Lizzie enjoyed a moment’s elation before she continued. “On that note, if any of you decide you’d like to double your pocket money, please come to see me.”

With that, she excused herself, a strange euphoria filling her. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, one she’d been carrying around for twenty-one years. She would do this. She would launch the investment company in her own name, to hell with the gossips. Why worry over the future when one could speculate on it instead?

She found Edith and pulled her friend aside. “I am sorry, but I cannot stay for dinner.” Edith began to protest, so Lizzie leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Happy birthday, darling.” She swept from the room, determined but by no means fleeing in shame.

By the time she collected her things, the emotional swing had left her exhausted. She looked forward to a hot soak in her tub. Or, perhaps she’d visit the Turkish bath. Her mind occupied, she descended the steps toward the Cavanaugh carriage—only to have a hand land on her shoulder, startling her.

“Lizzie, wait,” Henry said, slightly out of breath as he came up alongside her. “Please, do not go away angry.” Taking her elbow, he guided her down the remaining steps. “I needed you to know how I feel.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me of these feelings ages ago, Henry? Everyone assumed you and I were serious, but you never made your intentions clear. Now that I am married to someone else, I’m to believe you are in love with me?”

“Yes! I am in love with you. I have been since the first moment we met.”

He sounded sincere, and she could only stare at him. Henry was perfect—handsome, rich, with a background similar to her own—so she should be wildly in love with him. Yet she’d never experienced any feelings stronger than friendship toward him. No rush in her blood or all-consuming desire to be near him, not like with Emmett. Her emotions for Emmett were so strong, so monumental, that she felt her skin could hardly contain them.

“You were never right for me, Henry, and I am not the right woman for you. Somewhere inside, you know that.”

They stood by her carriage now, the coachman hanging back a few steps, waiting. “No,” Henry said, grasping her forearm to plead his case. “You have always been the right woman for me. I just assumed I had more time. One day I turn around and you’re marrying Emmett Cavanaugh. But I know you don’t want to be married to that—”

“Stop. Do not finish that sentence.”

He sighed and stared across the street at Gramercy Park. “I won’t say anything more than this: Think about it, Lizzie. That’s all I ask. I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

* * *

Shadows, dark and depressing, draped the office as Emmett continued to work. He’d shed his coat and vest at some point, leaving him in shirtsleeves and suspenders. His dinner waited, untouched, on the edge of his desk, while a half-empty bottle of gin rested within reach. His eyes, however, remained on the investigator’s report that had arrived this afternoon. So far, there were three members of the Northeast Railroad board of directors who, contingent on a sizable bribe, would assist Emmett in taking the company over.

Excellent. He just needed a few more men in his pocket, and then he’d strip the company away from Sloane, giving that pompous bastard exactly what he deserved.

The door to his office opened, yet he didn’t look up. His wife had returned a quarter of an hour earlier, so he knew the identity of his visitor. “Where was she?”

Kelly didn’t answer right away, preferring to take a seat across from the desk instead. When the silence stretched, Emmett glanced up to pin his friend with a stare. “Well?”

Kelly scratched his jaw. “She . . . uh, she went to Edith Rutlidge’s again, this time dressed for a fancy dinner.”

“And?”

“She left early. Seemed a bit rattled. Then Henry Rutlidge followed her to the carriage. I couldn’t hear what they was sayin’, of course, but I got the impression he was pleading with her.”

Anger exploded in a white-hot rush, tensing Emmett’s muscles and obliterating rationality. He shot to his feet and started for the door. “Wait!” Kelly called. “She came home. Alone.”

Hand on the knob, Emmett paused. That she’d returned did not assuage his anger. Far from it. So she’d gone running to Rutlidge again. Christ on a cross, would they never be rid of that son of a bitch? “How long did Rutlidge talk to her? And did he touch her?”

“A few minutes. Held her arm a bit—”

Fuck. Emmett flew into the hall, racing to the stairs. He had no idea what he would say to Elizabeth, but he would not allow Rutlidge to have her. Not while Emmett had breath left in his lungs. If Rutlidge and Elizabeth thought they could carry on behind Emmett’s back, they were sorely mistaken.

He heard Kelly call his name but he paid no attention, taking the stairs two at a time and charging to her dressing room. Not bothering to knock, he threw the door open and stepped inside. Elizabeth’s maid gasped, but Emmett ignored her, instead focused on the beautiful, deceitful woman staring down her nose at him despite their clear difference in height.

Blond hair flowed over her shoulders, the locks recently released from whatever complicated coiffure she’d worn earlier, and a silk dressing gown hung from her shoulders. Flashes of bare skin covered in white cotton and lace danced in front of his eyes before she jerked the edges closed, tying the sash tightly. Smudges under her eyes caused her to look tired, and no welcoming light of warmth lit her gray depths as she faced him down. “Thank you, that will be all,” she said to the maid, dismissing her.

The door closed, leaving the two of them alone, and a myriad of emotions ran through him. Fear, outrage, jealousy . . . but mostly the insane craving that grabbed hold of his balls every time he was in her presence. She was stunning, even more so undone like this, and he could vividly remember her eagerness, the passion she had exhibited each time he’d taken her. His cock stirred in his trousers, and he resolutely ignored it.

“Yes, Emmett? I’m assuming you had a purpose in barging in here tonight.”

“What does he want from you?”

Confusion clouded her expression. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t you?” he sneered. “Henry Rutlidge. Though I can’t say I’m surprised you went running to him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I went running to him. That is precisely what I did. Fortunately, my fleeing coincided with Edith’s yearly birthday dinner.”

A sliver of doubt worked its way down Emmett’s spine, but he pressed, wanting some reaction from her. “Convenient he was able to get you alone, press his case. Let me guess, he believes you can do better than a dirty, common lout like me?”

“It hardly matters what Henry believes. If you trusted me in the slightest, we would not be having this conversation. But you don’t trust me. You never have, and I’m coming to accept that you never will.” She reached for her brush. “Now, get out, Emmett.”

Heart pounding, he took a few steps closer. His fingers flexed with the need to touch her soft skin, to cup her plump breasts, to test the wetness of her cleft.... Then he noticed the pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her neck, and knew she was not as immune as she pretended. Her response triggered something inside him, an urge to taste her, to have her begging underneath him one more time, a desire so strong that his knees nearly buckled.

He hated this hunger, the insatiable lust that consumed him whenever Elizabeth was near. He was a drunk, willing to do anything for another bottle. Desperate with wanting. But he could not stop the pulsing need, could not prevent his legs from starting forward.

In two long strides, he backed her up to the dressing table. Her palms came up to rest on his chest, both to steady herself and to keep him away, no doubt. In a swift move, he lifted her onto the table, then captured both her wrists, brought them around behind her, and held them easily with one of his own hands.

She struggled a bit, a flush on her cheeks, pupils wide and black. “Let me go,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I do not think so,” he whispered, skimming his nose over her supple cheek. God, she smelled delicious, like vanilla and soap and stubborness. “Tell me what he wants, Elizabeth. Tell me why Rutlidge followed my wife to my carriage and dared to put his hands on her.”

She gave a sharp intake of breath near his ear. “You’re having me followed.”

He nipped the edge of her jaw with his teeth, felt her shiver. He reveled in the reaction, his cock lengthening. “Damn right I’m having you followed.”

With his free hand, he lifted the flimsy layers she wore to her waist, then stepped between her thighs, needing to get closer. Her breasts met his shirtfront as he trailed his fingertips along the smooth skin of her inner thigh. He was rigid beneath his underclothes and trousers, his prick clamoring for friction, but he resisted the urge to release himself and drive into her body.

She was panting now, eyelids closed. “You have no right to spy on me.”

“The hell I don’t.” He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of her throat, sinking his teeth into the tender spot where neck met shoulder. She arched closer, and he whispered, “You’re mine.”

“Oh God,” she whimpered, her fingers curling into fists behind her back. “Then you must remember that you are mine as well, husband.”

He untied her dressing gown and let the edges fall open. The idea of another woman hadn’t even crossed his mind. He was too obsessed with the one in front of him. “How could I possibly ever forget?”

He moved lower, using his tongue, teeth, and lips until she was nearly pushing her breast into his mouth. He licked the puckered tip through the cloth until she writhed, and then he wrapped his lips around her nipple and drew the taut flesh into his mouth. Her resulting moan reverberated in his blood, hardening him further.

The need to coat his tongue with her slickness urged him south. He released her wrists and dropped to his knees. Her fingers wound their way into his hair, clutching him tight as he parted her drawers. He could smell her, the womanly musk that signaled her arousal, and then she was bared before him. Glistening, swollen . . . He nearly shot off then and there. Christ, this woman.

He kissed the edges, sucking gently on the plump lips that guarded her entrance, not giving her what he knew she wanted. When she squirmed, trying to get closer, he said, “Tell me. I’ll do anything you need, but you must tell me first, Elizabeth.”

“Please, Emmett.”

“Please, what?”

“Kiss me there.”

“Here?” he asked, and pressed his lips to the tendon at the juncture of her thigh. He flicked his eyes to see her watching him, her silver gaze glassy and dark.

Her lips parted, her pink tongue darting forward to wet them. “Inside,” she whispered. “Use your tongue.”

He was hard and heavy, aching for her, and her words lanced through him like he’d been hit with an electric wire. “Yes,” he hissed, before parting her to give long licks with the flat of his tongue. He loved her taste, would never get enough of bringing her to peak with his mouth. The tip of his tongue circled her clitoris before he pulled back to ask, “Who is doing this to you?”

“Emmett,” she sighed, her fingers gripping his hair painfully as she threw her head back.

He hummed his approval against her skin, the vibration working its way through her sensitive tissues. She gasped and rocked forward. He decided to reward her and began sucking on her swollen pearl relentlessly. When her cries turned to urgent pleas, he quickly unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his erection out of his underclothes. In a flash, he rose, lined up, and drove into her with one thrust.

So warm and tight. Jesus Christ, she felt utterly perfect surrounding him. He captured her mouth and began to move, his hips working hard and fast, with no finesse whatsoever. The tiny dressing table rocked underneath them, crystal and porcelain tumbling to the floor, but Emmett kept pace, driving them higher.

She kissed him with abandon, every bit as wild as he, and when he felt her walls tighten around his cock, his fingers reached between them and brought her over the edge. She clenched, nails digging into his arms, cries ringing in his ear, and he could not hold back any longer. Pleasure built in his lower back, his legs . . . his fucking toes. With a shout, he let go, shuddering as spend erupted from the head of his prick.

Awareness began to creep in when the waves finally stopped. They were wrapped around each other, breathing hard, on a table in her dressing room. What was it about this woman? He didn’t trust her, no matter what Kelly and Brendan believed. So why had he just pounced on her like a starving man?

Withdrawing, he began putting himself to rights, resolutely avoiding her gaze. He owed her an apology for taking her like this, but the words would not come. She was his wife—not Rutlidge’s. “I do not want you seeing him again,” he said gruffly. “Is that clear?”

Elizabeth slid off the table and pulled her dressing gown closed. “Do not be ridiculous. He is the brother of my best friend. There is no way to avoid him, Emmett.”

“I do not want you alone with him.”

“Why?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. Then a bitter laugh escaped her. “Because you don’t trust me. Of course, how could I have forgotten?”

He said nothing, just watched as a myriad of emotions traveled over her face. Finally, she asked, “Tell me, how am I supposed to win back your precious trust?”

No answer came to mind, other than that he wanted her to admit what she’d done. It was the only way he could ever be sure. But trust or not, he still wanted her. Ached for her. And he had no intention of allowing another man to lay claim to her.

“For starters, stay the hell away from Henry Rutlidge.”